Olympic Goals Page 3

  “All right,” her friend called, “but the race will start whether you’re stretched or not, so hurry up.”

  From a throng of spectators in the stands, Dad’s voice rang loud. “Give it your best, honey,” he called. “We love you.”

  “We’re proud of you,” Mom added.

  Bonnie searched the crowd until she found her parents sitting with Preston’s mom and dad several rows up. The Grants offered smiles and shouts of encouragement, while Preston’s brother, Henri, gave her a nod. Her own brother, Jim, had been unable to attend, but his wife, Patsy, sat beside Mom, holding a sign proclaiming victory for Bonnie and Preston.

  Her fan club, that’s what Mom had called them last night when she phoned Bonnie from the hotel. Well, this morning she needed all the fans she could get. With her whole future on the line and her mind not exactly on the task of winning, knowing there would be familiar faces to cheer her on did help a bit.

  “We know you’re going to do just fine,” Dad shouted. “Win that race, Bonnie Lou.”

  Waving a reply to the little group, she trotted toward her teammates. If only she could be so confident. Thanks to Preston, she’d shaved crucial seconds off her time and conquered her penchant for getting a slow start off the blocks. After yesterday’s practice session, he proclaimed her ready to take on the world—literally. According to him, there was nothing else she could do but show up and take the win for her team. Her training was complete; she was ready.

  Martha smiled. “You all prayed up?”

  “I’m not sure,” Bonnie said.

  “I’d be worried if you were.” She grasped Bonnie by the hand. “Just keep your eye on the prize and watch the handoff. Nothing else matters because the Lord’ll take it from there.”

  Moments later, the call came for her event, the women’s 440 relay, and all hope for doing anything on her own

  evaporated. “ ‘I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus,’ ” she whispered as she assumed the position and waited for the start.

  Those words never failed to bring comfort. The Lord put her in the race, and He alone would determine the finish. Her purpose was merely to press on toward the goal, to keep her eye on the prize, as Martha said.

  “I love you, sunshine,” drifted her way, and she glanced to her left in time to see Preston standing on the sidelines. “We’re going to Rome together.”

  Yes, she would do this for Preston. She would achieve his Olympic goals, even if they weren’t really hers as well.

  And then, almost as if time shifted and slowed, the race began. Her legs felt like lead, and the crowd noise turned to a dull buzz in her ear. All she knew was the ground beneath her feet and the wind in her hair. Nothing else registered except the steady beat of her heart and the even cadence of her breath as her arms pumped and pushed her forward past first one competitor, then another.

  Rounding the second turn, she began the mantra that always sustained her. “Press on, press on,” she whispered in rhythm with her stride as she picked up her pace. The baton began to feel heavy in her curled fingers, and the blood pounded in her chest as the third turn fell behind her. Ahead Martha awaited, ready to take the baton, but mere yards seemed like miles today. In the lane next to her, a competitor caught up with her, then put on extra speed to break ahead.

  “You can pass her, sunshine,” she heard. “Put on the speed for the handoff.”

  With that cue, Bonnie dug into the track and forced her pace beyond what she knew possible to regain the lead. Somehow, the baton slipped into Martha’s hand and her leg of the relay ended. She slowed her pace and walked off the track to allow her heart to match her breathing, turning her gaze toward her family in the stands.

  Dad shouted something she couldn’t understand, and Patsy stood waving the sign. Mom waved her hankie and leaned on Mrs. Grant’s shoulder. Both women wore broad smiles. Only Henri sat quiet and still.

  The sound of runners approaching drew her attention back to the action at hand. As the others took their turns handing off, Bonnie cheered them on until the race ended and her team had taken the victory. Celebrations ensued, and somehow, Preston appeared at her side to claim first an embrace, then a kiss. The flash of a camera shutter quickly separated them.

  “Miss Taggart,” a reporter called. “Congratulations. Would you care to answer a few questions for our readers back home in Boston?”

  “Thank you,” she replied as she leaned into Preston’s shoulder, “but I’d rather not.”

  “C’mon, Bonnie,” Preston whispered. “Talk to the man. He’s come a long way to cover this.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” she said softly. “As long as you’ll do the interview with me.”

  She looked up at Preston, but he failed to notice. He’d already begun smiling for the camera. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you do this alone, sunshine.”

  “So, Miss Taggart,” the reporter began, “to what do you owe your success?”

  Bonnie smiled, then jumped when the camera went off again. “To the Lord and Preston Grant,” she said. “One gives me strength, and the other gives me wings.”

  Those were the last words she had to utter during the entire interview. Like the trained journalist he was, Preston took over and fielded questions on every subject from her training schedule to her favorite breakfast food. The only question he refused to answer at length was in regard to a wedding date for the two of them.

  In that case, he responded with a vague, “Wait and see.”

  Thankfully, the interview soon ended, and Preston escorted Bonnie to the edge of the track. His event would not be called for quite some time, but he refused to leave the track area. Always a part of the action and never in the stands—that was her Preston.

  “How’s your ankle?” she asked as they halted at the gate.

  Preston brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of his hand, then allowed his fingers to trace the line of her jaw. “The ankle’s fine.” He placed his thumb on her lips, and she kissed it. “You worry too much.”

  Her fingers caught his. “And you don’t worry enough.”

  “That’s because you do it for me. Now tell me you love me, and let me go get ready to win this one for you, sunshine.”

  “I love you,” she said, “whether you win or not.”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then incredulous. He dropped his hands to his sides, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you holding out the possibility that I might not make it to Rome with you?”

  “Of course not, sweetheart,” she said quickly. “I can’t imagine it any other way.”

  “That’s better.” One last embrace and a kiss, and he trotted to join the others warming up in the center of the track.

  Bonnie couldn’t help but notice Preston favored his left leg as he jumped over the low barrier separating the track from the practice area. She knew he’d been unhappy with his performance over the past few weeks and had stepped up his training regimen, refusing to take the trainer’s advice and treat his tender ankle with care.

  “Stubborn man.” She allowed the gate to close behind her.

  “Don’t expect the Lord made them any other way. It’s supposed to be part of their charm, but I believe it just makes ’em ornery.”

  She cast a glance over her shoulder to see Martha standing there, and Bonnie giggled. Her friend, the pretty Texan, certainly had a way with words.

  Martha trotted to catch up with Bonnie as they headed for the stands. “Can you believe we’re going to Rome? That’s a long way out of town for this Dallas girl.”

  Bonnie’s buckling knees stopped her short. “Oh my, Martha. We are going, aren’t we?” She grabbed for the railing and held on tight. Beyond Martha’s puzzled gaze, she saw Preston make a successful practice jump over a low hurdle.

  “Honey, you look like you swallowed a bug.”

  She forced her attention to return to Martha. “I’m fine, really.”

  M
artha looked skeptical. “If you’re fine, why can’t you let go of that rail?”

  “Well, I suppose I’m a little nervous.” She paused to pry her fingers off the cold metal rail. “But that’s normal, right? I mean, this is the biggest event of our lives outside the day we accepted the Lord.”

  “Now that’s the truth.” Martha guided Bonnie toward the stairs leading up into the stands. “How about we go sit down and watch the fun from the peanut gallery?”

  “I’d like that.” She nodded toward her family. “I’ll introduce you to some very special people.”

  Their arrival in the stands caused a minor uproar with Mom, Dad, and Patsy all trying to hug her at once while Preston’s mother chattered on about the race. Only the Grant males seemed relatively unaffected by their presence. Once the introductions were complete, Mom made room for her and Martha at the end of the row next to Grant’s brother.

  While Martha and Henri exchanged pleasantries, Bonnie’s gaze scanned the field until she found Preston. He stood apart from the others, his head bowed as if in prayer.

  All at once the importance of the day hit her full force, and she dared to think the unthinkable. What if Preston doesn’t make the team?

  When Martha touched her arm, she jumped. “You’re about as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” her friend said. “What’s wrong, pal?”

  “I’m so nervous.” She leaned against Martha’s shoulder and took a gulp of fresh air. “For Preston,” she added.

  “Relax. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Bonnie glanced at her mother’s watch. “Not soon enough to suit me.”

  Martha nudged her. “Before you know it, you’ll be in Rome with Preston, wondering what in the world you were so worried about.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to imagine competing in the Olympics with Preston at her side. As in all the times before, she failed.

  Chapter 5

  As a courtesy to its two Olympic hopefuls, the Uni-versity of Massachusetts athletic director sent trainer Dell Woods along with Bonnie and Preston. What Bonnie did not know was that Dell had gone to the director and insisted he be included, not to be there for Bonnie in case of emergency, but to be there for Preston just so he could compete.

  In the months leading up to the trials, Dell had been invaluable in keeping Preston on the track when the last place his tired body wanted to be was in training. When taping and ice didn’t bring quick enough healing to his injuries, Preston depended on Dell’s expertise.

  He’d done nothing illegal. Many athletes used the same method to abate the pain. Still, Preston felt the Lord calling him to discontinue the treatments.

  “Trust Me,” he’d heard in his heart last night as he fell asleep contemplating the trials.

  This morning he’d prayed—no, he’d pleaded—for the strength to make the team on his own. God had continued to answer in the same manner. “My strength is sufficient for you.”

  Of course, Preston knew that, but where was God when his knees ached, his ankle throbbed, and his muscles screamed for rest? Where was God when Preston stared up into the stands and saw the love of his life and the family without whom his Olympic dream never would have been possible?

  Maybe he needed just a little something to get him started. It wasn’t like he was an addict or some pill-popping beatnik. He had just inherited a questionable set of knees along with the fierce desire to be the first Grant in the family to be an actual Olympic contender. A bad combination, to say the least, but Dell had the answer.

  Or at least he always claimed he did.

  Dare he ask the question of the quiet and unassuming trainer? Thus far, Preston had only partaken of medications to numb the pain and allow him to continue to run past his body’s endurance—all medically sound means to remain in competition. Never had he stooped to something that might give him an unfair advantage.

  At least not yet, although Dell had certainly offered on more than one occasion. Right now he knew for certain Dell possessed the very tools to secure a spot for Preston on the U.S. hurdles team. The spot would give him a platform to share his beliefs with the world and to fulfill his—and his father’s—dream of becoming an Olympian.

  What was so wrong about getting just a little help? It’s not like he would depend on anything but his own talents once his place on the team was secure.

  Please, God. You understand, don’t You? After all, You’re the one who gave me the desire to compete.

  God’s silence spoke volumes. With a nod toward the trainer, Preston jogged in the man’s direction.

  Dell met him halfway and slapped a hand on his back. “Looking good, Grant.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “How are you really, buddy?”

  Preston shook off Dell’s hand and stared him down. “I’m fine.” He paused. “A little nervous, but fine.”

  “Need anything to help you get through this?”

  Yes. He nodded at a passing teammate, then turned his attention back to Dell. “No thanks.”

  The trainer cocked his head to the side and seemed to be assessing Preston. While his face wore a smile, his demeanor showed no humor. “You sure? I watched you this morning, and your left ankle looked a little wobbly. I could fix that.”

  Preston’s shoulders sagged with the truth. The course of the rest of his life hinged on the results of the next race. Everything he’d hoped for, dreamed of, and worked for would culminate shortly in a race that to the rest of the world would be merely entertainment.

  To Preston, however, it was his life.

  “No,” Preston finally said. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

  “That’s what I thought. Come with me. Uncle Dell will take care of what ails you.”

  Lord, stop me, because I can’t stop myself. I just have to make the team. He fell into step beside Dell and headed for the locker room. Seconds later, a member of the press corps stepped into his path.

  “Preston Grant, right?”

  Preston nodded and gave Dell a side glance. “Yes, and this is Dell Woods, trainer at the University of Massachusetts.”

  Dell gave the middle-aged reporter a broad smile, then turned his charm on the camera crew. “Nice to meet you fellows,” he said. “If you’ll excuse us, Preston and I were just about to get in a little last-minute training before the big race.”

  The reporter turned his attention to Preston. “I was hoping you might give my viewers a moment of your time, Preston.”

  “Can’t,” Dell said. “Maybe afterward, when he wins.”

  “My strength is sufficient.” Preston squared his shoulders. “Hey, Dell, I think I’ll skip the last-minute training.” His gaze locked with the trainer’s. “Thanks anyway.”

  Rather than answer, Dell stared a moment longer, then shrugged and turned to walk away. As the trainer paused to look over his shoulder and laugh, Preston resolutely turned his back and faced the newsman and his crew.

  Putting Dell Woods out of his mind, Preston shook hands with the fellow from CBS and smiled. The reporter, a small-time guy from the local affiliate, had just pulled a silver pen out of his pocket and asked him what he would be doing if not for the Olympics.

  “Why, I suppose I’d be doing what you’re doing, sir,” he said. “The Olympics runs in my blood, pardon the pun, so if I couldn’t run the hurdles, I guess I’d have to interview the ones who can.”

  “Well, that’s a fine ambition, son,” he said.

  The reporter asked a few more questions regarding his training schedule, what he ate for breakfast, and whether he thought the upcoming election would bring a win for the Republicans or the Democrats. Each query went dutifully answered until the man asked Preston about his love life.

  “I would venture to guess that there are any number of pretty coeds out there who would love to know if there is a future Mrs. Grant in the picture. Anyone special out there you want to say hello to back in Massachusetts, Preston?”

  Preston allowed his gaze to drift
past the reporter to the stands where Bonnie had just turned to laugh at something her mother said. A thought occurred. Why wait until Rome? He could haul Bonnie out of the stands right now and profess his undying love right here in front of this television reporter and his camera crew. What a story that would be. It might even make the national news.

  And then her gaze met his, and she lifted her left hand to wave. He upped his smile a notch and watched her touch her fingers to her lips and blow him a kiss. Pantomiming the act of catching it, he wrapped his fingers around the imaginary kiss and held it to his chest.

  What a woman. Mere national coverage would not do for the profession of his love. No, he would wait until he held the attention of the entire world. He would wait for Rome.

  “Mr. Grant?”

  His attention shifted back to the reporter. “I’m sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. “What was the question?”

  Before the newsman could answer, the loudspeaker crackled and the voice of the track announcer called his event. Preston shook the man’s hand and sprinted away, shouting a word of thanks over his shoulder as he left the reporter and camera crew standing alongside the track. Moments later, he stood at the starting blocks with his event only seconds away.

  He sought his father in the crowd and turned to face the stands. With his right hand raised high, he pointed toward his dad as if to say, “This one’s for you, Pop,” then punctuated the gesture with a smile for his mom. Finally, he met Bonnie’s gaze and blew her a kiss. Just as he had done earlier, she caught it and held it to her chest.

  Hurdles, real and imaginary, lay stacked on the track in front of him in neat progression. Each one would have to

  be met, challenged, and defeated for him to become an Olympian. The air snapped and crackled with an electric excitement, and even the sun seemed to shine a bit brighter. It all came down to one man, one race, and one very big God.

  When he turned to fit his feet into the starting blocks, all thoughts faded save one. God must bless him with the best time of his career. After all, his decision not to take Dell up on his offer of extra help meant that God would gain full victory should Preston win a slot on the team.